Another Way
by SwirlingSilver
Summary: Certain events force Camille to understand just how important Richard has become in her life and she doesn't know what to do about it. Branching off from the first episode from season 3 but changing one MAJOR detail. I have tried to keep this summary spoiler free but the story contains spoilers for series three. Please do not read if you do not wish to know what happens.
1. Chapter 1

Spoilers for the first episode of series 3. Do not read if you've not seen that episode.

Disclaimer: Death in Paradise and its characters do not belong to me. If it did, Richard Poole would not have left and instead something like this would have happened.

Summary: After Richard is stabbed, he barely manages to survive. Faced with the possibility of losing him Camille begins to realise her true feelings for the stoic Englishman.

Chapter 1.

Beneath her cheek the blanket is scratchy. It irritates her skin like the chopped off hair that gets stuck down her top after a hair cut. Still, she doesn't move, it doesn't cross her mind to. From the position she is in she can see the steady rise and fall of his stomach with every precious breath, can feel the solidity of _him_ beneath her, just about hear the steady thump thump of his heart and she thanks God for every single beat, all too aware of just how close it came to be silenced forever. She closes her eyes against the thought. _He's here_, _Camille_, she tells herself, not for the first time. _Hold on to that_.

Somewhere down the corridor, a door closes and the noise echoes tinnily down to room 17. A couple of nurses are gossiping at the nurses' station about someone called Felicity not turning up for work and outside on the street, someone walks past whistling. Everywhere around her are the sounds of life while she and Richard Poole remain suspended in this place which seems miles away from the hustle and bustle outside. She turns her face and rubs her nose gently across the blanket, hoping to get a whiff of tea and sun block and the underlying scent of his sun-warmed skin. Anything to chase away the universal stink of hospitals, the smell of sickness and creeping death.

The single worst phone call of her life, the one which had knocked away the ground beneath her feet and caused her mind to begin its wild spiral had come at around seven the previous evening. With Fidel's words, 'It's the Inspector,' everything came to a crunching halt. Little by little, inch by agonising inch, her skin was being turned inside out, each overly-sensitive nerve ending exposed to the elements and battered mercilessly. She had been, if not happy then comfortable with the murky lines of their relationship. She'd called him her boss, colleague, friend depending on the day, never straying across that invisible line between them. She could vacillate, by the hour it seemed, between wanting to slap that smug smirk off his face and wanting to wrap her arms around him, between rolling her eyes at the arrogance of the man to being reduced to tears of laughter by a simple comment, a look.

And now and then, those moments which transformed to warm syrup in her stomach, warming her from the inside. When Richard had done his awkward best to encourage Fidel. When he'd thrown Dwayne's statement about the Nadia Selim case straight in the bin without reading it. Him, sitting on the beach with her with not a care for his suit trousers after Aimee died. His quiet strength overshadowing his vulnerability when confronted with the odious Doug Anderson. Him trying lobster at her birthday party because it was her birthday and her favourite restaurant and she'd asked him to just try. He'd subtly disposed of the mouthful into a napkin when he thought she wasn't looking but then he'd caught her eye and smiled when Dwayne had led them in a raucous round of Happy Birthday. In her mind's eye she could still see his lips shaping the words 'dear Camille.' It was embarrassing to admit, even to herself, how many times she'd replayed the words in her mind.

She'd had plenty of time to replay those moments, relive each memory in vivid detail last night as he fought for his life. Around four in the morning, as the sky turned pale grey outside, she had finally succumbed to the tears teetering on her lids as she became aware that she might never hear his voice saying her name again. Already she thought she might be forgetting the sound of it.

At some point the doctor had come in to announce that Richard had responded well to the blood transfusion and was in recovery. Alive.

Now it was the next evening. Fidel and Dwayne had been working all day on trying to find his attacker while she had been impossible to tear from the Detective Inspector's side. At some point in the early hours, it had been Fidel who had tactfully suggested that Richard should have a police presence at his bedside to prevent the attacker returning once he'd realised he'd failed. She'd volunteered without a second thought. She suspects his suggestion was in order to allow her to save face and not let those more oblivious around them from realising her feelings. Whatever the reason, she is more grateful to Fidel than she can say that he'd persuaded the Commissioner and the doctors to allow her to stay.

Those first few hours when the others had gone to the station had been spent staring at the monitors standing like watchmen around his bed, making sure the patterns stayed steady and clutching on to his hand so hard that she'd left fingernail marks in his skin, little half moon crescents of paler flesh on the back of his hand. She had long since lost count of the number of times she'd pressed the alarm button in response to an unusually loud beep on his monitors or a line that had dipped lower than usual. The nurses, to their credit, had come running every time, clustering around Richard and assuring her that all was fine.

In the long hours with just the two of them in the room, after the nauseating panic had subsided and her tunnel vision had widened to encompass more than just the man in the bed beside her, Camille forced herself to confront the extent of her affection for him. As terrifying, and possibly unwise as it was to feel this way for an emotionally repressed Englishman who hated almost everything about the island she adored, she knew she was in love with him.

_I love Richard Poole._ She tried out the sentence in her mind, bracing herself against the wave of disbelief she felt would surely follow but instead: nothing but relief as her heart sped up when she pictured his face.

Now the afternoon sun beams through the open window and across the bed in a long rectangle. She can feel the heat on her back through her clothes but fortunately the air conditioning is turned to high so Richard's hand feels cool in hers. He hadn't woken up since the night before. The doctors assured her it was normal, he'd been through a lot and they should let him rest. She'd consented, rather reluctantly. But she wanted him to open his eyes, to see that deep green sparkle in the light. She feels like she'd do anything to hear him complain about the heat, the Caribbean food again. It had been less than twenty four hours and already she feels like she is suffocating without the roll of his eyes and the animation which engulfs his frame like a wildfire when a connection forms inside that genius mind of his.

With a deep sigh she closes her eyes and focuses on his soft breaths ruffling her hair. He's here. He's still here with her...

"Cher?" Catherine touches her shoulder gently and Camille jerks awake. "Cherie, you must sit up. Dwayne and Fidel are down the hall. You do not want them to see you this way." Camille runs a distracted hand through her hair, tugging at the knots that have formed in her slumber.

"Maman? What time is it?" She looks around for a clock, eyes brushing the stark white walls but apart from the afternoon sun, hanging low in the sky outside of the window telling her it is early evening, there is no more concrete evidence of the hour.

"A little after six thirty. The nurses told me you were fast asleep when they came to check up on Richard about an hour ago."

Catherine moves past her and looks at Richard intently. Leaning over the bed, she gently brushes his hair back from his forehead and places a whisper of a kiss on his brow. Something has thawed between Catherine and Richard in recent months as Camille has looked on. There is a genuine affection between them and as Catherine begins to talk to Camille, she fusses around Richard like a mother hen, straightening blankets which don't need straightening and pouring a glass of water for him on his bedside table despite the fact that he seems to be sleeping as deeply as ever. Camille thinks her mother would have tried to smuggle her chicken soup in here if she thought she could get it past the nurses.

"How is he?"

"No change, Maman. The doctors this morning said he would be alright but..." Camille breaks off with a shrug and bites her lip. Catherine gazes at her daughter with that soul-piercing stare which had her spilling all her secrets in high school.

"And how are you, my darling?"

Camille's breath leaves her in a rush. "I'm... I don't know how I am, Maman. Worried. He is my... my friend and I was so scared I would lose him." She is shaking so hard that Richard's right hand, still clasped in one of hers, vibrates slightly on the blanket. With a deep breath she gets herself back under control and meets her mother's eye. "I can't believe someone would have done something like this to him. And I know that everyone says that but it's true. He's the kindest, most gentle man I've ever known."

A knowing gleam and the slight upturn of Catherine's lips have Camille shifting in her seat and abruptly she stands up. The chair screeches across the floor in a way that has the hair on her arms standing up and she casts a glance towards Richard's face. Not a flicker. "I should go and talk to the doctors."

"No need child. Dwayne and Fidel stopped to speak to the consultant on the way in. They gave me a lift from the station."

"Oh." Suddenly finding herself on her feet without purpose, Camille strides into the en-suite bathroom attached to Richard's room (she suspects the Commissioner had something to do with Richard's private room) and studies her face in the mirror. Her face is heavy with sleep and her eyes have that crusty granular compound in the corners so she runs the tap and splashes her face in an attempt to hide her recent slumber on her boss' chest and to make herself feel fresher. She smoothes the wrinkles out of her top and leans on either side of the basin, staring at her damp face.

So much has changed in the last twenty four hours, surely she should be able to see it in her reflection. Her flyaway hair clouds around her head, knotted at the ends as a result of not seeing a brush since yesterday morning. Her eyes are drooping despite her recent nap and she becomes aware of just how stressful last night was and how tired she is, right down to her core.

Next door, the door opens and Dwayne's deep rumble greets her mother. Camille looks around. On the back of the door hangs an almost threadbare yellow towel on a hook; she pulls it down and dabs her face dry before exiting the room.

Straight in front of her, Fidel is arranging some flowers, blue and violet orchids, on the bedside table. When she enters, he turns to look at her over his shoulder and moves so she can step up next to him.

"Juliet insisted. Said it would brighten the place up." Self-consciously, he tweaks one of the blooms and Camille gently bumps her shoulder against his, offering him a quirk of her lips which isn't quite a smile but is the best she can do.

"They're beautiful, Fidel. Juliet was right," Camille gazes around at the low, flat bed, the bare walls, the single chair pulled up to the bedside and sighed. "These places are so bleak."

Dwayne is standing with Catherine on the other side of the bed near the door and when he catches her eye he nods towards Richard.

"Hello Camille. So how is the chief?"

"He's been asleep all day. When the doctor came after lunch he said it was normal. He's been through a lot. Lost a lot of blood and the transfusion was a major operation. Seven millimetres to the left and..." She can't finish the sentence. A hand rises to her throat of its own accord as if to strangle the words and the thought which accompanied it. She shakes her head, her hair slapping the sides of her face with the ferocity of the action. "And you? Did you find anything out from his university friends?"

"Four friends at the villa. Angela Birkett, Roger Sadler, James Moore and his wife Sasha. They were all saying it must have been an intruder, they were together at all times, you know, the normal things," Fidel says, finally stopping his fiddling with the flowers.

"And the detective inspector was alone on the terrace," Dwayne interrupts. "All of their stories seemed to corroborate the idea that none of them had the opportunity to kill him." A slow grin spreads across the older man's face. "And then Fidel dropped the bombshell that the chief was still alive. We said that the mystery would be solved soon when he woke up. We thought it would trip up the attacker. Force a mistake."

"And?" Camille looks between her colleagues desperately.

"And James and Sasha Moore arrived at the station about an hour later. Confessed almost instantly hoping for a reduced sentence. They're in the cells at the station. Turns out Sasha Moore is not Sasha Moore but her sister. She had stolen Sasha's identity after a road traffic accident to get her hands on Sasha's money and leave her own past behind. The chief worked it out so she went on to the terrace and stabbed him with the ice pick to try and cover her deception. James helped cover it up."

"But how did Richard know?" Camille asks.

"He was in love with Sasha. The real Sasha. While cosmetic surgery fooled the rest of their friends, Richard knew it wasn't her."

"Oh." So Richard had been in love before. Maybe was still in love; that would explain his almost monastic lifestyle in the two years she had known him. A red hot hand reaches into her stomach, grasps her insides and _squeezes_. She can't quite hide the gasp that escapes her at the painful blow. Camille cast her mind back, pictured the woman they had thought was Sasha from the villa. Slim, a little on the short side, brunette and clearly a genius to have attended Cambridge. So that was Richard's type. And to have seen her after twenty-five years and to have known that something was off... Sasha Moore had clearly had a big impression on him.

"Hey," Dwayne reaches over and clasps onto her upper arm, jolting her out of her thoughts. "It's over." He peers into her face. "I think you could use some rest. I have to go back to the station to finish off the paperwork. Can I drop you at home?"

Camille pulls back, dislodging his hand and looks towards Richard, mouth opening to voice her objection but Catherine gets there first.

"Do not worry about him. I will stay until visiting hours are over but you need rest Camille. His attackers are behind bars. There is no more need to worry."

Catherine wraps her daughter in her arms, moving the thick dark hair away from Camille's ear to whisper, "I will look after your Richard for you."

Catherine gently pushes her daughter towards the door, which Dwayne opens to let Camille pass out in front of him.

"Are you coming Fidel?" Dwayne asks and the young sergeant shakes his head.

"No, I'm going to spend some time with the chief."

"See," Catherine says with a smile at Camille. "We have a police officer with us, Richard and I will be just fine."

"Okay. Just... Call me, Maman, if anything happens."

"I will."

"I mean it, Maman. Anything."

Back out in the corridor with Dwayne, Camille looks around her. Last night she had been too frantic to take anything in but to her surprise, unlike the dismal place of darkness and despair she'd built up in her mind, the hospital was bright and airy. At either end of the corridor, large windows let sunshine pour through, lighting up the duck egg blue walls and at regular intervals along the hallway stand large floral arrangements of every colour she can think of. But the Our Lady of Grace's Hospital is the most expensive on the island so she supposes Richard's insurance is paying for it and least he is also getting the best medical care.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Death in Paradise and its characters do not belong to me.

Summary: After Richard is stabbed, he barely manages to survive. Faced with the possibility of losing him Camille begins to realise her true feelings for the stoic Englishman.

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, they are a pleasure to read. I have some big plans for this story. I'm not sure how long it will be yet but I intend on updating at least once a week so it should never be too long between updates. I haven't watched all of series three yet but have shade myself watch the first episode (through tears most of the time!) in order to get some details straight in my head for this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Spoilers for the first episode of series 3. Do not read if you've not seen that episode.

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Chapter 2

"James Moore says that if Richard had left 'Sasha' alone, they wouldn't have had to do it. He said that after all this time, he's still obsessed, was sniffing around the woman he thought was Sasha like a bloodhound. I mean come on!" The next day Camille waves her hand around, taking in Richard's desk, the pencil pot perpendicular to his PC monitor, the meticulously organised files on the shelves behind his desk. "We _know_ Richard. There's no way he would have been trying to seduce a married woman."

It is just after ten the next morning and the three of them- Dwayne, Fidel and Camille- are sitting in the station at their respective desks. Fidel is on the phone, using his shoulder to hold it in place against his ear as he murmurs and takes notes. The door, as usual, is open, inviting in any breeze that might happen to spring up. But the air is still, humidity resting so heavy that all the surfaces are slightly damp to the touch and Camille's top is stuck to the small of her back. She shifts and peels it from her skin like a plaster.

From her desk she can see Richard's, directly in front of her. It draws her attention as if the vacant space is screaming at her. The empty wooden chair behind the desk is like an blank picture frame- it seems inherently wrong to look up and not see him there. A small smile plays on her mouth as she remembers hiding a plastic snake on that chair, his shrill shriek, the glint in his eyes belying his apparent annoyance. Even seeming angry at her, he threw the snake so gently towards her that even if it had hit, it wouldn't have hurt her. He wouldn't have hurt her. Leaning back in her chair, Camille bats away a fly which falls into orbit around her head, its loud buzz somehow both irritating and soothing her rapid thoughts.

Dwayne laughs and breaks her gaze from the desk before her. "You got that right. I doubt he ever tried to seduce anyone let alone someone so..." He trails off, waving his hand in the air vaguely.

Camille shoots him a harsh look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dwayne has the good grace to look cowed. "I'm sorry Camille. I just meant, you know, physically... Look, we know the chief is intelligent and kind but you have to admit, him and Sasha Moore, they make a strange couple. To look at." Camille just stares at him in stony silence until he moves his eyes away, abashed.

As much as Camille would have liked to spend the day at Richard's side again, now that the doctors have said that he's out of danger, she had to accept there was no need for it. Besides, there was still some paperwork to be filled out about the Moores. Due to limited resources on Saint Marie they were to be moved to the larger jail on Guadeloupe to be held until the trial. As far as Camille was concerned as soon as she could get them off the island and put as much distance as possible between them and Richard the better.

As the most senior officer at the station, she had had to go in to the cells that morning and explain the next steps and it had taken everything in her not to launch herself at the bars to get at them. Waking up that morning, Camille had been aware of the possibility that she would have to face them but for all of her chanting, _I'm a professional, I'm a professional,_ to herself, when faced with the people who had tried to murder the man she was quickly coming to regard as the love of her life, it was a different matter.

Sasha had been wringing her hands in her lap, her face pale in the dim lighting and all at once, Camille could completely understand how someone could commit murder. In that moment she had wanted nothing so much as to wrap her hands around that slim pale neck and not let go until the other woman was dead. This was the woman who had tried to kill the greatest man Camille had ever known.

"What's going to happen to us now?" James had asked as soon as he laid eyes on Camille.

Shrewd brown eyes flipped to the man in the cell beside his wife's. And here was the man who had claimed to be Richard's friend. She had swallowed and tried to force her face into calm professionalism. "With your confession and Richard's testimony we can go straight to trial-"

"What about a plea bargain? I mean, what are we looking at here?" Sasha had demanded, cold eyes fixed on Camille's. Camille studied the older woman. She had seen a great many criminals in her time and she knew remorse when she saw it. She was not seeing it in the Moores. She stiffened her spine, standing up straight, raising herself to her full five foot seven inches and glared into the cells opposite.

"You will be tried as the criminals you are with attempted murder. With your formal confessions taken by my colleagues last night, combined with Detective Inspector Poole's testimony there is no need for a plea bargain. We have enough evidence to convict you."

James stared, open-mouthed, back at her and Camille met his eyes unwaveringly. Sasha broke the staring contest by slowly rising to her feet. Approaching the bars, her bare feet slapped softly against the ground, discarded shoes lying underneath the bunk. She had recently had a french pedicure- the varnish on each toe was intact and shone even in low light. She hesitated then, hands coming up to rest on the bars, fingers curling around the metal poles.

"Look, Sergeant Bordey, right?" Camille nodded curtly. "My husband and I, we're British citizens. Can't we go home?"

"You must stand trial here and then if you wish you can apply to be deported to the UK after you are convicted." Briefly, Camille had gone on the explain the details of their imminent transport to Guadeloupe before leaving them in the cells to go and complete the transfer forms.

Back in the present, Camille is just signing the bottom of the papers when Fidel's words catch her attention.

"Alright. Thank you, doctor," Fidel hangs up the phone. "That was the hospital." In a second, Camille forgets her irritation at Dwayne's comments and rounds on Fidel, jumping from her chair to approach his desk.

"What is it? Is Richard alright?" Her hands turn icy cold despite the heat in the moment before Fidel answers.

He grins, wider than Camille can remember seeing since Rosie was born, before he answers. "He's awake."

Camille's out of the door before Dwayne and Fidel can even get up from their chairs.

In the hospital Camille can hear Richard ranting halfway down the corridor and a laugh-sob scratches her throat on its way out.

"Just give me my phone, I need to talk with my team. Oh for the... It's important!"

With Dwayne and Fidel close on her heels, she tumbles through the doorway, eyes eagerly searching the room for him. And there he is, sitting up in bed reaching for the mobile phone in the nurse's left hand. The wires connecting his chest to the heart monitor are stretched to the limit and the nurse is trying to coax him back down in the bed. Her long black hair is tied in a messy bun at the back of her head and she is wearing pale blue scrubs. Her voice, when she speaks, is lower than Camille expects and although she's five foot two at most she is firm as she meets Richard's eye.

"Your colleagues have been contacted, sir. They're on they're way now. Please lie back down."

"Sir," Fidel says from behind Camille and Richard looks over. His eyes skim over Dwayne and Fidel before landing on the Camille and staying there. With a sigh, he finally allows himself to be pushed back on the bed. The nurse places his phone on the table next to the bed, satisfied that Richard is done fighting for it. She tuts at Richard gently.

"Calm yourself Mr Poole. You just had major surgery." She straightens the monitors before reaching over to adjust the pad on his chest inside his pyjama top. Richard looks away from Camille and bats the woman away impatiently. The nurse brushes back her black fringe and shakes her head. With a glance at the monitors she sighs then looks at the trio watching the scene from the door. "You must be careful, you hear? Mr Poole needs his rest and I won't have you disturbing him."

As though released by her words Camille falls forward, almost running around the bed to his side. She just about manages to stop herself falling on him and pressing his lips to his regardless of the audience and settles for resting a hand on his shoulder. Opening her mouth only to find she seems to have forgotten every word she knows, instead she gapes like a fish at the man in the bed. Richard looks up, with his mouth in a straight line but with a smiling sparkle in his eyes. It is Fidel who breaks the silence and their eye contact.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

Richard uses his hands to shift himself further up into a sitting position. "Wonderful. There's not a thing wrong with me, I don't know why I'm being imprisoned here."

"That'll be the drugs talking then will it?" Dwayne says, grinning as he nods towards the drip leading into Richard's left arm. Richard follows his eye-line and concedes with a wry shrug.

"Maybe so. But we have more important things to discuss. Sasha Moore-"

"Stabbed you. We know," Dwayne interrupts.

"And Sasha Moore is not Sasha Moore but her supposedly deceased sister Helen who stole her identity in order to get control of her sister's money after her death," Camille went on.

"And her husband James, who was having an affair with Helen, covered up the identity theft and the attack on you and is now snug in the cell alongside his wife-slash-sister-in-law," Dwayne finishes and cocks his head to the side. "Did we leave anything out chief?"

Richard blinks twice and despite the gravity of the situation Camille wants to laugh at the blank shock on his face. Next time he speaks however, all humour is gone. His voice is strange and there's a deeper wrinkle between his eyebrows that she wants to place her lips upon and make disappear. "James knew?"

Of course. Richard had been unconscious for that part. Camille glances towards Dwayne and Fidel who are wearing an expression she suspects is not dissimilar to her own. Fidel's mouth opens and closes as he searches for words which are not coming.

"Well. That's him off my Christmas card list then." Richard's hands fidget on top of the blanket and he lets his head flop back against the pillow. Camille can hear the air escaping from between the feathers inside in a fast _phlump_ sound. The other three detectives stand in awkward silence. She can't imagine how it feels, to know that someone you considered a friend could do that to you. Richard seems to shake himself and she can almost see the walls being put back up behind his eyes. She wants to do or say something to stop it but its too late. "Anyway. Onwards and upwards. So they confessed to everything."

"Yes. They said they had no choice- their whole lifestyle was in danger once you realised the truth. That she was impersonating the woman you love."

Richard's soft eyes shoot to Camille's and she feels the smile fall off her face. Something inside her chest turns to heavy stone and she gulps against it, trying to dislodge the knot in her throat. Richard, ever perceptive Richard, follows the bobbing of her voice box up and down before raising his eyes to hers again.

"It's like the market on Saturday in here," the petite nurse from earlier reappears in the doorway accompanied by a woman in her late thirties with a long face and curly blondish hair. "Here he is but I'll tell you what I told these others. Anyone gets him wound up and you'll all be out. Mr Poole, just press the call button if you need me." With that she disappears, leaving the woman hovering self-consciously in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect it to be this busy. Hello Richard," she says and steps towards the bed, holding a bunch of white and sunshine yellow plumeria flowers aloft like an umbrella. "These are for you. Well," she laughs nervously, "who else would they be for?"

Camille watches Richard look at this woman with a fond tilt of his head. "They're beautiful, Angela. Thank you," he says as she turns sideways to get through the space between Dwayne and the wall, shuffling sideways until she can get close to Richard's head on the other side of the bed to Camille.

Angela. A memory sparks in Camille's head. Angela Birkett. One of Richard's friends at the reunion. She is instantly on guard. "Weren't you told not to visit?"

"Camille!" Richard admonishes as Angela turns the shade of a ripe tomato. Fidel tuts quietly and even laid-back Dwayne lifts his eyebrows at her.

"Well... Well, yes I was. But after Sash- _Helen_ and James were arrested, I thought it would be okay. I called..." Angela looks around seeming lost until Fidel steps in.

"Miss Birkett called the station this morning to check if it would be alright. I said that as we had a full confession from the Moores, I didn't see there'd be a problem."

Camille falls silent and nods but continues to watch as Angela places her flowers on the table beside Richard with a sensation like the contents of her chest have been scooped out and replaced with lead. Richard turns his attention back to Angela who leans over and kisses him gently on the cheek a couple of centimetres to the left of his mouth. His lips pucker in response and he kisses her back, lips grazing her cheek. Camille's hands tighten on the railing at the side of his bed.

"I'm so sorry. If I hadn't brought them here..." Angela gazes into his eyes pleadingly.

Richard makes a hushing noise and pats her hand. "You weren't to blame, Angela. Don't worry: all's well that ends well." Angela quickly puts her own small hand on top of his, long fingers stretching out over Richard's.

He lifts his head and cranes his neck to see the flowers his university friend brought. Camille finds herself wishing she'd stopped to buy some blooms for him too. "Those are beautiful Angela. What are they?"

"Plumeria. They're supposedly imbued with healing properties so I thought they were appropriate."

Camille becomes aware of a pain in her jaw from clenching her teeth too hard together.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone for reading and for all the great reviews I have received so far. I hope you enjoy the next instalment.

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Chapter 3.

"So what's the story with Angela Birkett?" Camille asks as soon as they are back in the truck after visiting hours and away from prying ears. The hot leather of the seat stings her shoulders as she eases herself into the passenger seat and she rolls down the window instantly to try and dissipate some of the stifling heat inside the car.

The doctor had assured them all that barring any major issues, Richard would be discharged from the hospital the following morning in order to convalesce at home. Of course, it was emphasised that he would not be able to work for at least another two weeks and should 'take it easy.' Richard had rolled his eyes and Camille had allowed herself a giggle at the thought of Richard 'taking it easy,' sitting on the beach in a full suit, drinking tea.

"A university friend. It was kind of her, wasn't it?" Fidel said in the back seat. There was a click as he buckled himself in. "Coming to see the chief. I know she feels responsible for what happened."

"What?" Camille asked sharply.

"Well, she was the one who suggested they all come on the holiday to Saint Marie for the reunion. The others didn't know Inspector Poole was out here, but Angela has been in contact with him since he moved here. She said she didn't feel it would have been a proper reunion without him and wanted to include him."

Dwayne, sitting in the driver's seat, indicated and pulled out onto the road. Camille twisted round to face Fidel in the back seat.

"So she organised the reunion?"

"Yes. Although I think it was an excuse to see the chief again," Dwayne says as they trundle along the road towards the town centre. "She's in love with him."

Camille had suspected as much but it's another thing to hear it confirmed. Anger wars with devastation within her. Angela went to Cambridge too. Another genius. Plus she and Richard have shared memories, a common background. Dwayne leans on the horn as another car pulls out in front of him.

"He's lucky I'm in a good mood," he says, slowing to a stop behind the BMW at a set of lights. "Stabbing a police officer, cutting in front of a police officer. Has the whole world gone crazy?"

Soon enough they are back at the station. Camille walks up the steps behind Dwayne and Fidel, her feet sending up clouds of dust beside her and disturbing a bird in the grass to her left. It takes flight, cutting in front of her body before rising into the sky and settling on the station roof. As soon as Dwayne disappears into the shadowy interior of the station, Camille hears the old radio on his desk switch on and music drifts out onto the street. The heat in the air warms the flowers to the side of her and their rich scent tickles her nose. She can't help the small sneeze as she comes into the station.

"Bless you," Dwayne says as he settles himself in his chair and leans over the newspaper on the top of his desk. Glancing at Fidel, she sees that he is equally occupied, flicking through his notebook. Camille sits on her chair, moving aside the completed paperwork for the Moores' transfer which she had left strewn across her desk when she had exited so quickly before. Making a mental note to fax it to Guadeloupe in a minute, she leads through the case file on her desk until she finds what she is looking for. The background information on Angela Birkett.

Cambridge graduate, successful career, unmarried. In Fidel's small neat handwriting, she reads her statement. _Romantic feelings towards DI Richard Poole... Lawyer... No motive... Highly distressed._

Words swim in front of her vision and she turns to the picture at the top of the next page, studying it carefully. It had been taken on the terrace at the reunion party. Roger must have taken it as Sasha, James, Angela and Richard were all standing, squinting slightly into the sun. Sasha, on the left, curled into James's body, his arm over her shoulder and his hand cupping her shoulder. Angela stood beside him in a colourful striped dress and bright red shoes designed to draw the eye. Richard stood on the far right, as far from Sasha as it was possible to get. By accident or design? And then: his design or hers? Her gaze magnetised to Angela whose body was angled slightly towards Richard's, her hand clasped around his upper arm as she smiled widely at the camera. And Richard, standing perfectly straight backed, both hands clasped in front of his body with that tell-tale French book underneath his arm.

When she first found that book, she had thought for a foolish moment that he had been trying to learn French. _For you_, something inside her had whispered and her heart had doubled its beating for a moment.

Instead it had turned out to be a trick, an attempt to trip up the woman who was pretending to be Sasha Moore, the one person he had ever been in love with.

She closes the file with a sharp snap and stands up. Dwayne looks up from his desk and raises his eyebrows at her as she walks over to the filing cabinet to tuck the case file out of sight and then over to the fax machine where she punches in the number for the police station in Basse-Terre.

The next morning, after an uneventful night, Richard is released on schedule. The same morning the Moores are due to be transported to Guadeloupe, accompanied by two police officers from Basse-Terre.

Camille and Dwayne are tasked with waiting with the prisoners at the airport until the two other officers arrive. Dwayne is cuffed to James while Camille is shackled to Helen. Just being this close to her makes Camille's skin crawl and she stares at Helen's delicate, thin wrist underneath the metal cuff. She wants to reach over and dig her fingernails into that smooth skin, break the tissue-thin surface and make her _bleed_. She wants to rip her hair out one handful at a time, take the pencil Dwayne is using to do his sudoku and drive it into the other woman's leg over and over again.

Camille knew a girl once, in high school. She was a bully and a bitch, talking about other girls behind their backs. She'd once made Aimee cry by sticking sanitary towels all over her desk and writing 'Slag' in large red letters all over them. Camille had thought she hated her. But sitting next to Helen in the cool airport, she knows what it is to hate another person.

A man trundles past, pulling his wheeled suitcase behind him and it runs over Camille's bare toes, exposed by her sandals. She winces and tucks her feet beneath her chair. Ignoring the sullen prisoner beside her, Camille looks up at the departure board. The flight to Guadeloupe leaves in forty-five minutes and it has been arranged with the airline that the Moores are to be the last ones on the plane and the first ones off in order to limit the disruption to the other passengers. Outside the window she can see an airplane coming in to land and watches its descent, watches it turn slowly in the sky on its approach to the runway. In the distance, the sun is rising over the Caribbean Sea, throwing light into the palm trees. The door opens to the street and a hot gust of air comes in with a few late stragglers who hurry over to the check-in desk. Camille looks at her watch and then brushes her hair out of her face with her free hand. Through the arrivals lounge, two men in pale blue shirts and black trousers hurry through. Spying Dwayne, Camille and the two Moores they hurry over.

"You must be Detective Myers and Sergeant Bordey. I'm Detective Inspector Platt and this is Sergeant Asher," the taller of the two men says, holding his hand for both Camille and Dwayne to shake. "We apologise for the delay."

Camille shakes his hand firmly. "It's not a problem." Inside she's wondering where Richard is; if he's been discharged from the hospital yet. Who will drive him home? He's in no shape to sit in the sidecar of the motorcycle and she and Dwayne have the car. "Here are the original transfer papers sir. We faxed copies to your station yesterday."

Platt looks over them and nods once. "All appears to be in order." With that James and Helen are passed over to the two other police officers. Camille watches them walk through into security with no small amount of relief before leaving with Dwayne to drive away.

Back in the car, Camille connects her phone to the Bluetooth and calls Fidel's number. The sound of ringing fills the car as they drive away from the airport. Dwayne rolls down the window and reaches forward into the glovebox, pulling out a bag of fruit-flavoured boiled sweets. He lets out a triumphant laugh. "I knew the chief kept some in here! Camille?"

He offers her the bag but she waves him away impatiently and glances at the clock on the dashboard. The vibrant red numbers tell Camille it is twenty past ten. Richard should have already been discharged.

"Camille? Is everything okay?" Fidel picks up the phone on the second ring. Dwayne starts attempting to unstick a sweet from the half melted, sticky clump and the smell of fruit and heated sugar fills the car.

"Fidel, we were a little delayed at the airport. Do you know if Richard's been discharged from the hospital yet? We could pick him up on the way back."

"Actually I just got off the phone to the hospital. He's left already."

"Left? Did the Commissioner pick him up?"

"No. They said he left with the woman who came to visit him yesterday. I assumed they meant you but perhaps it was Miss Birkett."

Camille changes gears with more force than necessary and alters her course. Rather than heading towards the station and Our Lady of Grace Hospital, they are now on the road leading towards Richard's shack on the beach.

"Dwayne and I will go to his house to check on him and then come back to the station. Have there been any calls this morning?"

"No. It's been quiet."

"Okay. Well I will leave my phone on. Just call if you need anything. Well be back soon." Camille ends the phone call and takes the next left turning towards the beach.

Dwayne finally manages to unstick a sweet and pops it into his mouth. Immediately, he makes a face, teeth grinding audibly on the solid confection.

"The chief won't eat fresh shrimp but he'll eat these?" Dwayne casts around for a spare piece of paper to spit the sweet into and settles on an old receipt. Outside the open window, birds sing in the trees and the road switches from Tarmac to gravel. Dwayne folds the bag of sweets over on itself to make sure they won't fall out and tucks them back into the glove compartment. His eyes watch her fingers drumming on the steering wheel and he gently lays a hand on her arm.

"Is everything alright Camille?" He asks hesitantly.

"Yes, fine. I just want to check on Rich- the detective inspector before we go back to the station." Camille sighs. A bug lands on the windshield and she switches on the rarely used windscreen wipers to brush it away from her line of sight.

Dwayne squeezes her forearm softly before letting go. Camille takes one hand off the steering wheel and catches his hand before he lets it drop all the way, applying a small amount of pressure before releasing.

At a red light, Camille pulls to a stop despite there being no other car in sight along this stretch of road. She turns her head and meets Dwayne's eye. For all his joking and levity, Dwayne has always seen more than he let on. It is this exact trait which makes criminals so often underestimate him and renders him invaluable as a police officer. He might not be as ambitious as Fidel, as intuitive as Camille or as clever as Richard but none of that alters the fact that there is an emotional intelligence in him which makes him a terrific police officer.

And from the wide eyes, the small quirk of his lips and the almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Camille knows this is one of those times where Dwayne knows exactly what is going on. She nods at him, a silent confirmation and drives on when the lights flip to green.

When they pull up behind the beach house there is already a silver car glinting in the morning sunlight.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone for all your lovely reviews. I try to answer the signed reviews individually and want to take the chance here to thank all my anonymous reviews - Kas, Anna Taure and Redruthlass- for their reviews too. I really appreciate it.

At the moment I've been trying to post a new chapter every Sunday but I'm going on holiday next week so I won't be able to. I'll post as soon as possible when I come back but for now here's a slightly longer chapter than the last one.

Thanks for reading,

Jen.

* * *

Chapter 4.

In the passenger seat, Dwayne sucks in air through his teeth and from the corner of his eye looks at Camille. She barely notices as she stares at the gleaming vehicle sitting in front of Richard's house. Blindly, she gropes for the door handle and opens it, stepping out. Sand has blown onto the path and she feels it shift between her sandal and the ground. Behind her, Dwayne's door opens and she hears his footsteps over the insects chirping and hushing of the sea.

Down the beach a little way, a football match is going on between a small group of men. Someone kicks it a little too hard and there is a splash as the ball lands in the sea. One of them swears as he wades in to retrieve it.

Richard's house stands in the shade at this time in the morning but he has his door open as always and from the interior, she can just about hear a murmur of voices.

Quickening her step, she walks onto the porch and the wood creaks beneath her feet. Inside, the conversation halts and Richard's deep voice calls out, "Hello?"

Camille moves inside, closely followed by Dwayne. She comes to a stop and Dwayne brushes past her to stand by her side so he too can see the inside of the shack. Richard, dressed in a suit trousers and a neatly pressed shirt, sits at his desk and Camille's eyes drink him in greedily, taking in his tidy hair, the suit jacket slung over the back of his chair. Despite the cooler temperature inside, sweat stains the white shirt; moisture darkening the material underneath his arms. The fan he keeps on the desk is turned on full, rotating backwards and forwards steadily on its base. Every few seconds, the blown air catches him full in the face and his hair is gently brushed back from his forehead.

His face gleams a little with sweat and underneath his eyes are tired rings; clearly he did not get a good night's rest in the hospital. Beside his elbow, Harry sits on the desk,drinking from a fresh saucer of water eagerly, fully domesticated.

When she cannot avoid it any longer, Camille looks over at Angela who has moved behind Richard's chair, and is facing the door. Today she is wearing a red sundress and a pair of sunglasses perched on her curly blonde hair. An awkward smile takes over her face and her eyes dart from Camille, to Dwayne, to the back of Richard's head like she is not sure where to look. Somehow, standing behind him like that, one hand on the back of his chair in an outfit clearly chosen to impress but with the tinge of red sunburn on her shoulders and arms, she somehow manages to look both proprietorial and out-of-place.

"Camille," Richard says first and his eyes crease at the corners when he smiles and how has she only just noticed how sweet that is? He greets Dwayne who steps into the silence Camille leaves by asking Richard how he is.

"Honestly, ready for work but the doctor insists. Two weeks minimum at home." A year ago he would have balked at calling this place home, now it doesn't even give him a moment's hesitation.

"And he's right," Angela says, leaning forward over Richard's shoulder to look into his face. When he turns to look at her, his face is only inches from hers. He draws back slightly upon realising how close they are but Angela doesn't seem to notice. "After what you've been through..."

"Don't you worry about a thing, chief," Dwayne says. "We've got everything covered."

Camille makes herself stretch her mouth into a smile but it feels more like a grimace on her face and from the questioning look Dwayne casts her way, it must look like one too. Realising that she has yet to say a word, Camille jolts herself into action.

"Sorry we weren't there to collect you from the hospital," she says. "Dwayne and I had to be at the airport."

"The Moores have been transported to Guadaloupe," Dwayne informs Richard. "The officers were a little late picking them up. Me and Camille were going to pick you up and bring you home."

"Ah, that's alright. Angela must have had the same idea. She was at the hospital early this morning and waited while the doctors did all their unnecessary tests and satisfied themselves that I was perfectly fine."

Angela blushed. "Well, I thought your colleagues might have been busy and didn't want you to wait around. I'm sure you were desperate to get home." Angela looks around at the room around her, eyes taking in the tree in the corner of the room, the mosquito net hanging over the bed, the sand on the floor that has blown in or been walked in off the beach and the lizard on the desk.

A memory suddenly sparks in Camille and she jumps on it gratefully. "I thought you were flying home last night."

"Well, I called my firm, requested another few days off and changed my flight. I thought, after everything... I wanted to make sure Richard was okay. So here I am," she says, spreading her hands to either side and gesturing to herself. "Here to help and at your beck and call."

"I told you, it's very kind of you, but really not necessary," Richard says but Angela shakes her head firmly.

"I absolutely insist. You can't get rid of me that easily," she says with a little laugh. "I've found a hotel nearby, paid for my room and booked my flight home for next Wednesday. It's settled."

Richard gives up and reaches over to run his index finger down Harry's back. Camille has her arms folded across her chest and something dark and hot writhes in the pit of her stomach. Angela would be here for another week, at Richard's side while Camille had to go to work. She would help him heal, bring him back to health and Camille knew, because she had known women like Angela Birkett before, that Angela hoped in the course of doing so, Richard would see her with new eyes.

And because she knew Richard, she knew that for all his perceptiveness, he could be terribly insecure and he would not be able to conceive of a pretty woman carrying a torch for him for twenty years. As far as he was concerned, Angela was over her crush and was simply being a good friend. It was like being able to foresee a car crash and not being able to do a thing to stop it.

Dwayne's voice pulls her out of her trance. "Is that your car?" He says, pointing out of the door.

Angela nods. "Yes. It's a hire car. I... I don't really like to drive but needs must you know."

"Some advice- if you're staying for a while, you might want to get a sun-cover for your windscreen. Stops the plastic on the dashboard melting in the heat you know."

"Thank you, I will," Angela replies gratefully.

"Actually," Richard begins, pulling himself to his feet. "I think there's one spare in the bottom of my wardrobe. I seem to remember seeing one in among my predecessor's clutter." He takes a step towards the wardrobe but his knee buckles beneath him and he stumbles forwards. Both Angela and Camille move in a flash to support him and reach him at the same time.

Angela grabs his right arm in an attempt to hold him up but it is Camille, standing in front of him who ends up bearing most of his weight. Hands on either side of his rib cage, steadying him, her front is plastered to his, stomach to stomach. Below the hem of her shorts, her bare thighs skim over his suit trousers, the rough material tickling her sensitive skin. As she breathes she can feel her breasts pressing tighter to his firm chest, can see them rising from the periphery of her vision.

His sharp eyes start off embarrassed that his moment of weakness was witnessed by others but that soon fades as he meets her own gaze. He stares at her and in the sudden silence, she hears him swallow. Against her chest, she thinks she feels his heart-rate pick up but it might be her own hammering against the frame of her ribs. In that moment she is certain that if she stretched up to taste his mouth, he would not object, if only because he is a man and she has been the subject of enough male attention to know she is an attractive woman. She wants to run her tongue along his lips just to see if he opens them enough for her to dip inside.

The moment fills several hours in which she is acutely aware of every nerve ending in her body and his, the breath leaving his lungs through his slightly parted lips. She has also never been more aware of how small this room is; how they are not more than three steps from his bed.

Camille is on the verge of throwing caution to the winds and reaching for his mouth when Angela intrudes on her vision.

The other woman cries out and time speeds up again. Angela reaches over to press her hand to Richard's forehead. "Are you alright? Perhaps you should sit down. Here..." She steers him away from Camille and back into the desk chair. "Are you in pain? When can you have some more painkillers?" On the desk stand two small pill bottles from the hospital, one of antibiotics and one of painkillers. She lifts the painkillers up now and turns it so she can read the label.

"I'm not in pain, Angela. I just came over a little weak." He gently takes the bottle from her and sets it back in line with the other one. Camille is frozen in place until Dwayne steps up beside her and surreptitiously touches her arm before either Richard or Angela can realise how still she has become. She nods her thanks and sighs silently.

In hindsight, it is probably for the best. He isn't himself right now, he's been through a trauma and his sharp mind is dulled by painkillers and antibiotics doled out by the hospital. She doesn't want to take advantage of that and have to have an awkward conversation later on when he takes hold of her heart and snaps it.

She is saved from having to think of what to say when Dwayne loudly opens the wardrobe door crouches down to root around in the bottom. Carelessly, he pushes shoes to the floor and Richard visibly winces as Dwayne straightens up with the sun-cover in his hand. "This what you were looking for, chief?"

Richards nose wrinkles slightly at the sight of the colourful screen and nods. Pictures of hula girls dance across a sky-blue background although the colours are faded slightly- bleached by sunlight. Dwayne offers the item to Angela who takes it and thanks him.

By this time Camille is feeling more herself and becoming desperate to leave the room I order to get away from the friendly (much more friendly than Camille would like) way Angela is behaving towards Richard.

"We're happy you're home safe sir." A few days ago that title came so easily to her. Now it seems too distant, too impersonal to encompass her feelings towards him. She wants to call him by his name, if only so she can savour the sound of each syllable in her own voice. Richard looks at her, the first time he's done so since his lips were a mere inches from hers. She wonders if he wanted to kiss her too. If he's ever dreamed of her mouth on his. His eyes give nothing away. "We should be on our way though. Fidel's on his own, you know..."

"Of course, of course. But thanks for coming by. It was... Nice of you."

He's looking into her eyes again and she wants to climb onto his lap.

"No problem chief. Call if you need anything," Dwayne says from behind her and it is the sound of his footsteps heading towards the door that prompt her own to start carrying her away from him and out the door.

After the dim inside of his shack, the sun seems even brighter outside and hurts her eyes causing her to blink rapidly. Dwayne is a few steps ahead of her and she follows him down the deck.

Footsteps hurry up behind her and Camille turns automatically, thinking it would be Richard. To her surprise it is Angela who steps out onto the deck, pulling the door closed behind her. With quick, light steps she hurries over to Camille without a word and is barely two feet away when she speaks. When she does, it is barely above a whisper and every now and then she glances at the door behind her to ensure that Richard has stayed inside.

"Sergeant Bordey, I just wanted to have a quick word..." She trails off and her eyes dart to Dwayne, standing just behind Camille. Camille, not looking at him, hears him clear his throat and his shuffling steps heading down the steps onto the beach. Camille folds her arms across her chest and doesn't say anything.

"I wanted to... You don't seem to like me much. I'm not sure why but I just wanted to... Clear the air as it were." Angela waits, shifting from foot to foot. Behind her, a car drives past on the road and the sunlight bounces off the shining surface straight into Camille's vision. She blinks, breaking the eye contact.

"I'm not sure-"

"Yes you are. Your DI was attacked and I must have been a suspect, right? But that's over and whatever you think, I only want to help Richard."

Camille sighs internally, looking down at Angela's feet in their arresting red heels. There's a scuff on the toe of the left shoe but otherwise they are pristine and look far more expensive than anything Camille has in her own modest wardrobe. Jealousy, unbidden, hardens in her stomach. Apart from being obviously intelligent, a lawyer high up in her firm, the woman is doing well for herself. Not that she thinks Richard is materialistic, but success is attractive in anybody. Richard is a DI, he has a certain thirst for success himself.

Dwayne's phone rings behind her, upbeat dance music cut off suddenly by his "Hello?"

Camille realises she has been silent for a few seconds and clears her throat.

"You cannot blame me for being wary. A lot has happened in the last week."

"No, and I think it's admirable that you are so concerned about your superior but, and I know it might sound strange, I never stopped thinking about Richard. You've worked with him, Sergeant Bordey, you know how brilliant he is. I fell in love with him while we were completing our degrees and well... He might have only had eyes for Sasha but I only had eyes for him. And know this has happened I feel responsible. I want to stay, to help him recuperate you see."

It's difficult to get the words out. An iron band has wrapped around Camille's chest and its hard to draw breath, let alone speak. "I see."

Emboldened by what she seems to read as Camille's willingness to listen, rather than what it is (an inability to make herself move), Angela presses on. "I can assure you I only want what's best for Richard. Seeing him again I realised. I still love him, even if he does not feel the same."

Finally, Camille looks this woman in the eye and utters what's been on her mind since she heard about Richard's attack and since she knew about Angela Birkett and her not-so-secret crush. "If you love him, you should have protected him."

Angela's mouth opens and closes as she gropes for the words to say. Not wanting to give any relief to the older woman, Camille stares at her, mouth set in a firm line.

Dwayne hangs up the phone and calls over to Camille. His words force her into action, dragging her away from Richard's shack.

"That was Fidel. We've got a murder."


End file.
